I've been slain by an aluminum bullet.

Just imagine tooling down the highway, the whole family is singing On the Road Again in chorus together, and tagging along behind is that shiny aluminum bullet of Americana – an Airstream camper.  It is something we’ve dreamed of since the success of our first tent camping trip.  It was wildly successful, despite long nights of thunderstorms, foul pit toilets, and inescapable mosquito clouds that threatened to carry our babies away.   If we can have that much fun on the meager sleep and damp accommodations a vinyl tent can provide, imagine the possibilities with the relative comfort and ease afforded by a classic, beautiful camper, with its on-board facilities, functional kitchenette, and enormous shade awning.  Take a moment and dream with me…

Of all things, an Airstream turned up last week, parked along the highway with a “For Sale” sign.  After driving by for a week and averting our eyes, my husband and I both came clean the same day that we’d had our eye on that most beautiful incarnation of outdoor accommodations.  We pulled up next to it and found out that it was actually being offered at the kind of humble price we could consider.  We took my dad by, a guy with plenty of experience buying campers, and he didn’t find anything to stop us, not from the outside anyway.  We made another visit to our Landyacht when someone was actually there to let us in, and it was exactly what we expected inside – outdated, but clean and usable.  No odors, no water damage, all the windows opened and closed, the owner says all the systems operate: an incredibly functional camper for an incredibly accessible price.

This is a little bigger, but similar.

So we’ve spent the last two days mulling it over.  The first, biggest, and most absurd con: we don’t have a truck.  The camper would have to sit on our property as a children’s playhouse until our Caravan dies and warrants a new vehicle purchase (this could happen soon, but how soon is an unknown).  The other cons are less absurd, but important non-the-less.  In the last eighteen months, we have had a baby, bought a hobby farm, sold a house, traded a convertible in on a minivan, and bought a tractor – oh, and I’ve quit my job.  In the next six, we still hope to build a chicken coup, get chickens, build a lean-to, and add at least one grass-eating livestock to our family – oh, and finally get the basement boxes unpacked.  In addition to all that, we’re seriously, seriously considering a kitchen remodel.  Every time I can’t open the door of the fridge far enough, because it’s crowded up against a wall, or I have to run the dishwasher twice in one day, because the “Spacesaver” under-sink model has only half an upper rack, I’m reminded of the need to put all our spare pennies in the kitchen fund.

If we don’t buy the camper, I know, with some certainty, that the day will come when we will look at each other and say, “Man, if only we’d bought that camper.”  If we buy the camper, I know, with some certainty, that my kitchen is going to stay in its current state for another year.  Of course, that may happen anyway – we have a chicken coop to build after all.  But knowing that only makes it harder to pass on my Airstream dreams.  Self denial stinks.  Really really.

a time to search and a time to give up  Ecclesiastes 3:6

I'm reluctantly sentimental about a tractor.

It was my biggest concern when we considered moving to the hobby farm: the pasture.  In addition to the 2-3 acres of lawn mowing, owning this place was going to mean cutting down another 3 acres or so of pasture as many as half a dozen times every summer.  The seller had been using an antique tractor with a 60” Brush Hog to get the job done.  My husband reasoned, whenever I questioned him, that if a 90 year old could keep it up, all by himself, certainly we could together.

We got the tractor worked into the deal, and it sat under a beautiful, giant oak tree, snuggled under a tarp, all winter.  The image on the fender of a heroic eagle with a flaming pitchfork evoked the era of its manufacture, and reminded us that, with its revolutionary 3-point hitch, this machine had once been the essential workhorse of any Midwestern farm.  The seller had given us a briefing back in October and we had each taken a practice lap around the field.  Yet looking out at that tractor all winter, I couldn’t help but feel anxiety about the pasture.  Would my husband enjoy driving the old beast?  Would he want to come home from a 40-50 hour workweek and spend his free time dragging a Brush Hog around the property in the blazing sun?  Would the noise, the dirt, the grease, and the smells bring him the joy of rural life or the burden of it?  I already knew from my own childhood that mowing an acreage was not my favorite summer pastime, but I hoped he might like it.

On the flip side, even as I considered the possibility we might want to trade our working museum piece in for a modern, wide-bladed mower, I couldn’t help hoping that old tool would become the centerpiece of a new way of life for us.  It might pull a wagon around for hayrides.  It might run a tiller for the enormous garden.  It might drag tree trunks to the woodpile.  I imagined all the possibilities its heroic eagle evoked, and knew this machine was so much more versatile than any modern mower would be.  Who knows, maybe even I might find myself enjoying the work, when it was on my own property?

Getting her ready
for the maiden voyage.

Last week the grass was tall enough; it was time to move from anxious hope to reality.  Sure enough, the old engine started easily, and after airing up the tires and checking the oil, we fired up the brush hog.  My husband quickly found himself at ease at the controls, and mowed down the first section of pasture in short order.  With a big grin on his face, he crossed the creek and began to mow the front section, finding himself completely confident going up and down the hills and around the trees.  Our vision was actually coming true!  I was elated, and I am pretty sure he was, too.  Our stress melted away and jubilation replaced it.

Who smiles when they're mowing?  That's my husband.  Living the dream.

He waved as I passed him on my way out to pick up a kid and our grins matched.  It was, however, a different story, ten short minutes later, when I got back.  The tractor was backed into a brush pile at the edge of the creek, and my husband was leaning over to one side and the other, fidgeting with the controls.  He eventually came in to report that something in the drive had snapped, and the tractor had freewheeled, backward, down the hill.  Because the breaks only nominally work, it was only my husband’s lightning reflexes that had allowed him to steer the thing into a cushion of brush, instead of coming to a hard, possibly limb-threatening, stop by hitting a tree or landing in the creek.

Now, aside from praising the Lord for my husband’s safe landing, we’re back to square one.  While a clutch assembly is a mere $150, installing it requires splitting the whole machine in half then putting it back together.  My dad did that once to his old Case when I was a kid – he winched the front end up to a tree to do it.  We’re not so mechanically adventurous as my dad.  Plus, the thing is disabled, on the far side of the pasture, on the wrong side of the creek.  We may have to rent another tractor, just to drag it out of there!

Check out that emblem on the fender.  Awesome.

All logic tells me that investing in a newer model mower with the widest cutting deck we can afford is our best option, but the sweetness of nostalgia for the old ways, for the possibilities, and the ambition wrought by the image of a pitchfork wielding eagle make it hard to give up on our old 9N.

Remember the days of old; consider the generations long past. Ask your father and he will tell you.  Deuteronomy 32:7

The chickens are going to have to wait.

Imagine the kids’ surprise on Easter morning, when we open a seemingly routine express mail package and out pop – chicks!  Downy soft and ready to eat their first meal, the three day old chicks cuddle up in their warm hands and the girls’ eyes sparkle with delight as our new adventure in hobby farming begins.

We’ve had that image in our minds since we first put an offer on this place.  With great optimism, we imagined that we’d get settled in over winter break.  We’d be hosting sledding parties in January.  We saw ourselves, as March rolled around, rearing to get out there to plant a giant garden and build a chicken coup.

Reality is reining us in yet again.  With the mildness of winter this year, we spent winter break building a shed and cleaning the garage, instead of unpacking the basement.  Old Man Winter withheld sledding until just this past weekend, when we finally got a snowfall that could cover the grass on our hill.  As the dominoes are toppling, I see that our Easter fantasy is fading as fast as my laundry pile is growing.

I am in no way deterred from the vision of what this place is going to be for us, but I am having to rethink the timetable.  We chose a smaller house, and it takes a lot longer to get organized and settled in when you have half the cupboards, closets, and garage that you did before.  My spring chickens aren’t the only thing I have to let go of.  There’s also the extra set of dishes, the spare bed, the computer armoire, that stunning teal sectional…and many, many things that are still in boxes downstairs, yet to be identified for sale or donation.

Finally breaking in the sledding hill last weekend!

We took a lot on, pursuing this vision of self-sustenance and simplicity; it may take us quite a while to achieve even a basic start to all we hope for.  But it was a gratifying moment last week, when my oldest came in after school, dropped her bag and coat by the door, and sighed, “Ahhh…home sweet home.”  Yes, my dear girl, it really is.  And whenever we do get to it, farm fresh eggs and garden vegetables will only make it sweeter.

Hezekiah, I will tell you what's going to happen. This year you will eat crops that grow on their own, and the next year you will eat whatever springs up where those crops grew. But the third year you will plant grain and vineyards, and you will eat what you harvest. Those who survive in Judah will be like a vine that puts down deep roots and bears fruit. 2 Kings 19:29-30

I choose us.

My oldest daughter gave me the compliment of a lifetime.  “You know, Mom; you’re really great at being a mom.”  The baby was off her schedule, up too late, and still needed her dinner when we got home from the church Christmas program.  She was fussing and cranky, too worked up to focus on the spoonful of puréed chicken and noodles I was offering her.  My biggest girl was having her own late dinner across the table, observing the whole operation as I combined soothing tones of encouragement and gentle offerings of her favorite snacks to finally get the baby to settle down and realize that eating food could actually be the solution to her hunger.  To a ten-year-old’s perception, I accomplished the impossible; no one could ever get a baby that mad to stop crying and eat, and who ever would want to talk sweetly to a baby that’s screaming at the top of her lungs?  Well, don’t worry, it hasn’t gone completely to my head, but unsolicited feedback on my job performance is exceptionally rare and, in this particular case, well timed.

Many times I’ve heard from both working and stay-at-home moms that I have an ideal situation.  I get the best of both, being able to take my kids to work with me.  I’m not cooped up in the house all day with only children for company, but I’m not tied to a cubicle, staring longingly at my baby’s picture.  Oftentimes, that has been true.  But there are also many times when I’ve had the worst of both; where my professional to-do list had to compete with a teething infant or a curious toddler.  Unlike my stay at home friends, I couldn’t drop everything to attend to my child.  Unlike my working friends, I couldn’t drop her off at daycare and focus on my work.  As long as I’ve been working and mothering, there have always been days when my baby had to cry it out, when my kids had to play solitaire in the youth room, or when I had to pay someone else take them to the park on a summer day.  There have also been meetings that had to be carried on with a giddy toddler squealing during the video, youth group campouts that included school-aged tagalongs, and potlucks to which we just didn’t make it.  And I haven’t yet mentioned the cooking or laundry.

Working and mothering has always been a tricky balance, but I felt called to both, so I found ways to make it work.  There were seasons where I felt like everything was just right, and seasons where I could have quit my job at any moment.  Combining my twelve years on staff with the years of volunteering I did before I was staff, this year’s high school graduates and I have been together since they were in preschool.  I feel confident that God has used me in the lives of young people to shape their childhood for the better.  They have experienced the love of Christ through my church’s ministries in ways that God put me there to facilitate.  I do not question that, up to now, I was called to be both a minister and a mom.

But everything is different now.  Not just for me.  I see it with my husband and my in-laws, too.  When you put our littlest girl next to our oldest, it’s like a flash forward.  In a blink, they go from itty-bitty, to all grown up.  We really felt like we were trying to savor the days with each of our kids, but it is undeniable that our sense of urgency is amplified this time around.  We’ve experienced the speed of life first hand, and we just don’t want to let even the smallest moment get away from us.  There’s no “we’ll do that tomorrow,” or “maybe next time.”  I feel like Nicolas Cage’s character, Jack Campbell, in The Family Man.   I’m seeing how all those compromises add up.  I’ve come to the conclusion that even if you have the best job in the world, which I do, and Jack thought he did, God can still call you away.

Maybe I’m a wonderful youth and children’s pastor, but it’s my first and highest calling to be a wonderful mom.  I hope I’ve done both, but I’ve made compromises that I don’t want to make any more: compromises that God has laid it on my heart to back away from.  Perhaps it may demand I make a whole new set of compromises, as leaving my job means giving up a calling that has become part of my identity.  I fear that it may be a surrender to sexism in that it suggests that I can’t be the best mom and the best minister concurrently.  It will be sad, and it will be hard; it will turn my life upside down.  But we’ve made arrangements with the church for me to resign this spring.  When my kids get out of school this summer, for the first time, we will wake up each morning to see together what the day brings.  When my baby weans this spring, for the first time, it won’t mean that she crosses a threshold, whereby I must spend the majority of my income paying someone else to nurture her during the day.

I’m nervous about the financial impact; I’m anxious about my professional future; but I know I’m leaving ministry to pursue a proud profession that I’m gifted for.  And despite my uncertainties about what the future holds, “I choose us.”  Not over God, but over professional ministry, during this season of my life.

Good people live right, and God blesses the children who follow their example.  Proverbs 20:7

We’re going to disappoint our kids this Christmas.

I’ve been hearing about it for over a year.  iPods, iPods, iPods.  They vowed to save up for them.  They wanted them for their birthdays.  They wanted us to search Craigslist for cheap ones with cracked screens.  Their devotion to getting iPod touches has been almost single-minded, even usurping the role of cell phone at the top of their longings and desires.  When we got my husband an iPad, and everyone found out firsthand how flawlessly Apple technology operates, and how truly addictive Angrybirds is, it amplified their desires to a new level of intensity.

In planning our Christmas giving, we got sucked in.  We debated the merits of iPods vs. ghetto-pads; we considered Nooks and Kindles.  We weighed the potential reading minutes against the potential gaming minutes.  We considered getting them one to share, but I wasn’t interested in officiating time of possession.  We were at the cusp of making a major outlay for technology, granting our kids’ biggest wish.

Then they started bickering.  First it was over socks.  Despite the fact that each girl has a drawer that is overflowing with socks, I was charmed by the goofy Christmas socks at Dollar Tree and bought them each two pair that they could mix and match.  The next morning, they were going at each other hatefully over the stupid socks, because they couldn’t come to an agreement on who got which of the FOUR PAIRS.  Later, they raised the same ruckus over who got to wear the pink mittens, despite the bin full of available options.  Shortly into the afternoon, they were fighting over space in the minivan.  We were FOUR people, riding in a vehicle designed to seat SEVEN.

My kids already have DS’s.  They already have a portable DVD player for road trips.  They already have a room all their own.  They already have a closet full of clothes.  They have a huge collection of Barbies, of Our Generation dolls, of Galactic Heroes, of dress up gowns, etc, etc.  But over the last few weeks, every adult who cares about them, myself included, has opened at least one conversation with, “what are you going to ask for this Christmas?”  It has led my children to believe that their self-centered, materialistic desires actually matter to the overall functioning of the social order and that, somehow, Jesus came to earth, purely to occasion their own wish-fulfillment.

I am back at square one.  I want my kids to have a fun, memorable Christmas.  Like everyone else, I don’t want their gift opening to be a disappointment.  I wonder what kind of role model I’ve been for them, that they would display such repulsive behavior.  Let’s face it, I’m disappointed, too.  I want to make them happy, but I also want to be a good mom, and I’m afraid that this Christmas, I’m not going to be able to do both.  Character and gratitude last longer than electronics anyway, right?  Wish me luck.

As bad as you are, you still know how to give good gifts to your children. But your heavenly Father is even more ready to give the Holy Spirit to anyone who asks. Luke 11:13

Why is simplicity so complicated?

Over a year and a half ago, my husband and I were trying to catch our breath.  He felt the financial pressure of being the primary breadwinner.  I felt the frantic race of keeping up with church activities, dance, and housekeeping.  Those feelings were all compounded by our ambitious volunteering with the Parks and Rec.  Not wanting to play favorites, when Dad volunteered to coach our older girl’s basketball team, Mom volunteered to coach the younger’s.  Have your chuckle at the idea I could potentially coach a sports team and let’s move on…

I picked up a devotional book on simplicity and we decided to complete the six-week course during Lent.  It turned out that it wasn’t so simple.  It took six months to finish the book and the process of assessing our lifestyle, our gifts, the things from which we take the greatest joy and satisfaction, and our hopes for contributing to, rather than exploiting, the world in which we live.  It might have been safer to cruise right through the book in six weeks.  Our pursuit of simplicity found us having a third child and putting our house on the market.

You’ve probably heard that it’s a buyer’s market out there.  It is.  We had hoped that we could pursue simplicity without actually catching it, I guess, because our decision to downsize was supposed to be dependent on God sending us a buyer for our current house.  Maybe it was the sleep deprivation from the new baby, maybe it was confidence in the marketability of our current home, but I honestly believe it was more along the lines of Providence.  We are closing this morning on that little brick house my husband’s been eyeing for the last five years; it’s set on a beautiful, wooded pasture just 2 miles from our current house.  It met all our criteria and then some.  The kids won’t even change schools, and we can raise chickens, have up to 3 livestock, and have all the room in the world for a giant garden.

It's already cuter than this - with a brand new, black roof.

I believe we’re following the calling of the Holy Spirit.  I believe we went through this process thoughtfully.  Still, it has been surprising to both of us how complicated this whole simplicity thing is.   Somehow while it seems like it should be the easiest thing ever to simplify, it is actually fraught with risk.  It’s taken a lot of courage and we’re just going to continue to rely on one another and listen for the still, small voice of God to show us the way.

I don’t know when we’ll be moved.  I don’t know how much stuff we’re going to have to unburden ourselves from.  I don’t know who is going to buy our old house.  But I know we’re headed where we’re supposed to be.  And I’m excited for the journey.  And I wouldn’t change a thing.  OK, I’d take a buyer…anyone?

Are any of you wise or sensible? Then show it by living right and by being humble and wise in everything you do. James 3:13